


Papi

by phanofpanic



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCeased (DC Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Batjokes, Batjokes Gotham Exchange, Batman/Joker - Freeform, BatmanxJoker - Freeform, Canon: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game), DC Comics References, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26819935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanofpanic/pseuds/phanofpanic
Summary: Bruce is haunted by what Joker told him in their last encounter, and he has to find out the truth while coming to terms with his own feelings.
Relationships: The Batman Who Laughs | Dark Earth-22 Bruce Wayne/Joker (DCU)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Papi

Bruce barely caught himself as he stumbled against the grimy walls of the back alley. His  
vision still blurred from the inordinate amount of champagne the gala director had shoved on him in a thinly veiled attempt at plugging his newest economic venture. His eyes scanned the brickwork for the thin crack that gave away the entrance. He’d only ever entered this way when wearing a mask with the capabilities of scanning the wall for him. He’d never tried to come here vulnerable. Hell, he’d only been vulnerable around the Joker once, and he couldn’t shake it out of his mind. It’s why he was here. It’s why he was scraping the absolute fuck out of his well-manicured nails against some of the grossest buildings in Gotham.

  
The clown must have taken pity on the scrabbling sounds coming from outside his secret hideaway because a soft click revealed the entrance that swung quietly outward. Bruce’s heart launched into his throat. What was he doing here? This wasn’t only a gamble with his ‘hidden’ identity, which was clearly shot with the message the Prince of Crime had whispered to him as he was taken away by the most obvious henchmen on the Gotham police force. Bruce needed to talk to him. The clown’s comment wouldn’t stop echoing in his brain, like a laugh track skipping on a turntable.

  
He felt his way down a long hallway before coming to the iron door. Turning the knob quietly, he steadied himself before pushing it inward. The abandoned warehouse had been converted into a club for the underbelly of Gotham, with a dance floor surrounded by booths with velvet curtains that could allow for…private moments. Bruce had never come here for pleasure, but it seemed everyone else in the city had at some point.   
  
The Joker lay draped across a high stool near the bar, a tumbler swirling in his hand and a slight smile painted on that didn’t reach his eyes. Their eyes met as Bruce tried to stride in but instead stumbled when he reached the bar. The Joker’s hand shot out, catching his arm. He said nothing for a few moments, but his eyes scanned Bruce up and down before letting him go. Bruce had never seen him so silent, so stoic. That was generally his area, not the man whose main aesthetic reflected a Barnum and Bailey show.   
  
“Careful, Bats,” Joker’s voice was soft around the edges despite the warning. “You’ll hurt that pretty face of yours. And we’d hate for those models to have to tolerate damaged arm candy for an entire evening.” His tone was light, but his eyes were glinting like the barrel of a pistol pointed at Bruce’s head.   
  
“Thanks,” Bruce mumbled, snagging a bottle as he leaned against the carved oak. The pounding was growing more blinding behind his skull, and he pushed his palms into his eyes to rub the pain away. Despite this, he could feel the Joker studying him, presumably questioning the rumpled tux that was in place of his typical armor. Who was he kidding? Bruce was wondering the exact same thing. How could he expose himself like this to his greatest enemy? He must be losing it. The violence and crime must have made him break. He must have truly lost it to find himself here. As if reading his mind, Joker spoke up.   
  
“What are you doing here, Bruce?” The use of his real name startled him, and he pulled his hands away from his bloodshot eyes. Bruce hadn’t slept in days, which wasn’t unusual, but he wasn’t used to the haunting taunt. It was eating at him. He took a breath, heart thundering.   
  
“What you said…I had to know if you meant it.” Bruce’s voice was breathy, dancing the line between desperation and excitement with the litheness of a performer on a high wire. Joker’s breathing hitched, slight as it was, Bruce noticed. Joker stood, nearly knocking over his stool. He moved smoothly around the counter, grabbing a jacket that Bruce hadn’t noticed was hanging on a hook. He wrapped it around Bruce’s shoulders, who hadn’t noticed he was shaking. The Joker’s hand lingered lightly on the small of his back.   
  
“I think you know I do,” Joker said, leaning around to whisper in Bruce’s ear, and a shiver slithered down his spine. “The question is, do I do the same thing to you? Is my voice haunting you too? Am I what you picture every time your eyes shut? Do your dreams feature me as prominently as mine do you?” Bruce turned his face slightly, their lips a mere breath away. Joker’s eyes flicked downward. With a snarl that was more disgusted that Bruce was prepared for, the Joker pushed himself away from the hero. “I sincerely doubt it.” With an acid-coated glance, the Joker turned and began walking away, his patent leather shoes clicking across the dance floor.   
  
“I wouldn’t say that,” Bruce whispered, his head falling back into his hands. He clutched his hair, and when he looked up, the Joker was a pale statue, his shoes cemented to the glassy marble floor. As he slowly turned, he met Bruce’s gaze, his smile was hesitant, but Bruce could see what he swore was hope in the Joker’s eyes. Bruce looked away before he continued. “All I’ve heard for days is your voice. I keep thinking I’m insane for fantasizing over the Prince of Darkness or whatever your nickname is this week. But with all the horrible things you’ve done…I don’t know!” He shouted as his wild eyes finally settled back on the man across the room.   
  
“Really,” the Joker’s voice was lighter, but there was a wolfishness to it. He stalked closer. “So you mean to say I’m your type, Batsy? I’m what you want to see after a long day of vigilantism? You don’t want one of those pretty women instead.” Joker leveled his gaze with Bruce, and this was no longer the villain that had been evading justice for years. This was a man who was desperate to feel something, and Bruce realized how alike they truly were. The Joker whispered, “Do you want me to crawl into bed moaning ‘Ay Papi’ for you every night?” 

At that phrase, the words that had been bouncing around his brain for days on end, Bruce grabbed the Joker’s wrist and with a maneuver, only Batman could do, pinned him against the bar. They stared at each other for a moment that stretched on forever and was over before it started. Their lips met with a fierceness that nearly stunned Bruce out of the kiss. He’d had no idea how much he’d wanted this. How much he needed this man.   
  
The Joker made a noise that sent Bruce into a frenzy. Grabbing the green-haired man, he lifted him with ease to one of the corner booths. He didn’t even bother closing the drapes as tore each other’s clothes to shreds. It wasn’t long before the Joker was screaming what he promised, and they were lost in each other until dawn.  
******************************************************************************  
Bruce woke in a bed he didn’t recognize. It took a moment to realize where he was, but a smile found itself making a home on his lips. There were a few moments of bliss before he realized his hands were tied above his head. Groaning, he pulled harder only to realize the music was blasting from outside the door. He must have slept for the entire day. He heard voices approaching, and he knew it was a mere minute or so before his compromised position was discovered. He turned to see a note propped up on a pillow.   
  
"I hope you have fun explaining why you’re at this den of inequity, Brucey. Dress nice for our date tonight, but if you want a challenge, wear nothing at all. I’ll see you tonight, Papi."   
  
Bruce couldn’t help rolling his eyes despite the smile that crept up. The door opened up as Bruce was already preparing his press statement for later. That clown would pay for this, and he’d enjoy every second of it.


End file.
